


Tested

by BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting



Series: Underfell Papyrus X Reader [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Bondage, Dom/sub, Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Tongue (Undertale), F/M, Fighting, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Play, Sex, Soul Sex, Underfell Papyrus, Underfell Sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting/pseuds/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting
Summary: Papyrus, though he would never admit it, feels kind of bad for pushing his pet-play kink onto the reader all those times. He doesn’t want to ask, mainly for pride, but he has a sneaking suspicion the reader’s foul mood has something to do with his latest attempt at peddling his fetish. According to a bunch of random strangers on the internet, there’s a very specific way he can make it up to them. To do it, though, he’ll have to set aside his pride… and test a few boundaries of his own.





	1. The first bit

**Author's Note:**

> The (maybe) long awaited sequel to the first ever fic I posted, Boundaries! I’m not gonna say that it was a bad fic, but I am going to say that there were definitely things I wish I had done better. For my first attempt, though, it was pretty good. At the time, people seemed to want a sequel or at the very least they had some ideas on what the reader should do to Underfell Papyrus. Namely, people seemed to enjoy the idea of him atoning for his rudeness in a rather… naughty way. Since it seems that most of my stories involve the reader being more of a sub, making them more of a dom seemed like a fun idea. I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one sexy stone.
> 
> For updates on stories, sneak peaks, and occasionally fanart please check me out at [TheHeraldOfTheDark](https://theheraldofthedark.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Anways, I hope you enjoy the story.

The bathroom light, the one he knows needs to be replaced, flickers above his head just as sporadically as his changing mind. The sink he’s leaning on leaks water from its old tap, a little like the sparse sweat covering his bony body. The floor tiles creak under his impressively sharp boots, though that could be his bones complaining about him rocking back and forth in a sort of on-the-spot pacing. The grimy mirror reflects back the sobering image of his own uncertain face, and the visage of his amazing dating gear. He’d like to be able to say that his discomfort was because of the human utilities his bathroom had to endure, but even though that was usually the case, it isn’t this time.

Maybe it’d be a good idea to renovate the bathroom, now that he thinks about it.

Papyrus shakes the thought off, knowing even through his usual I’m-the-best-and-all-my-thoughts-are-good filter that he was trying to distract himself from the problem at hand. The problem at hand? He really screwed up this time. Not in the oops-I-miscalibrated-a-trap way, more in the oh-God-I-ruined-everything way that he’d never had to deal with before, and he barely even had to deal with the first way. It’s humiliating enough on its own to have to _admit_ he made a mistake, much less to have to admit to such a colossal one.

He once again curses himself for getting into this situation in the first place, for making him even notice his own flaws (of which he had hardly any). The situation that was causing him so much grief? He had royally pissed you off, the one person he actually tried not to do that to. How had he done it? By clearly crossing the line and then stomping on it when the pain was still raw… Or, at the very least, that’s what it seems like he did with how you mope around the house lately. He had tried to skew the balance of your relationship too far in his favor for your liking, something he was just too used to doing with his brother that he didn’t think it would matter. He even thought he had buried the hatchet, as it were—he thought he had made it up to you perfectly! But you were still sulking whenever he would enter the same room as you. What was a guy like him to do?

A deep, scarlet flush takes over his features as he remembered the worst part of all of this: he knows _exactly_ what to do. Obviously, he couldn’t go to his friends for advice—none of them could know of his blunder. Instead of relying on his terrible friends, he scoured the internet and made several anonymous posts on several threads asking what he could possibly to do to remedy the situation.

After filtering out all the suggestions of him demanding you do as he says (trust him, he tried), of you dumping him (he wouldn’t let it slip that far), of him dying in a fire for dating a human (typical monster-phobic flack), and the hilarious ones that suggested he take you out to your favorite restaurant (pfft, didn’t they know that the terrible Papyrus doesn’t bother with such foolish romantic nonsense (his cooking was far better than any restaurant)), he finally found a few that had a small chance of working. A particularly kind (or perhaps excessively cruel) commenter had walked him through a few ideas on how he could make you feel like you both were on even ground again. The only way to do that, in the mind of the internet, is to show that he respects you enough to give you power over him. The only way to do that?

He had to put aside his pride and let _you_ dom _him_.

He had enough trouble going under Undyne’s training, much less completely submitting to someone else! God, he barely listens to his cooking instructor when he tries to stop his perfect cooking techniques! How was someone like him, in all his natural defiance and immeasurable pride, supposed to give control of his favorite thing—himself—to anyone? The only idea he could come up with was for him to completely ignore that problem until he got there; he’d just throw himself at you at a random time in the vain hope that maybe you’d be so thrown off that you wouldn’t go through with it, but you’d at least understand that he was willing to do it. God, he hopes that works, because that’s what he’s currently preparing to do.

The sink nearly cracks under Papyrus’s weight as he jumps at the sound of you returning home from work. Oh God, were you supposed to get back so soon? Papyrus turns back to the clock facing the toilet (he didn’t want you to lose track of time when you were in there, no lover of the Terrible Papyrus could afford to be anything less than perfectly punctual) and—he was the one who had lost track of time! It was _later_ than you usually came home, in fact. He doesn’t even want to think about how long he had been in here, just fighting with himself and going over the plan in his head. He wasn’t usually one for deep strategies anyways, he left that kind of nonsense to his lazy (but admittedly very thoughtful) brother, so he supposes he can forgive himself for the slip-up.

“WELCOME HOME, HUMAN!” Papyrus sings shrilly as he exits the bathroom, “I HAVE BEEN AWAITING YOUR RETURN ALL DAY!” He doesn’t see you in the doorway, which is probably because it took him a few minutes to look presentable in any way shape or form.

There’s no direct response from down below, save for the muffled “shit!” and the subsequent slamming of some random cupboard in the kitchen. “Have you?” you eventually respond, “that’s not like you.”

Papyrus can only chuckle at your disgruntled tone, “WHY YES, I HAVE BEEN WAITING ALL DAY, JUST FOR YOU.” He leans over the railing a little farther, “FOR YOU SEE, TODAY, NEITHER THE AMBASSADOR OR THE KING HAD ANY NEED FOR MY SET OF TALENTS! I WAS TOLD TO ‘TAKE THE DAY OFF’ AND ‘ENJOY THE WEATHER’! HA! AS IF THE TERRIBLE PAPYRUS HAS ANY NEED FOR SUCH A THING.”

“I’d like you to take a hike,” you murmur through clenched teeth.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Papyrus leans over the railing even farther, “I DIDN’T QUITE HEAR THAT.”

“Nothing,” you grunt, “nothing at all.”

Papyrus sighs theatrically, though he’s not sure why. Is it because his favorite person is home? Is it because you’re clearly still upset with him? Is it because he needs to be dramatic at all times? The world may never know. The “click-click-click” of a stove turning on catches his attention.

“AW, SWEET THING,” Papyrus lays his praise (that thing he doesn’t normally give) on thick, balancing on the railing “ARE YOU MAKING SOMETHING FOR ME? HOW SWEET OF YOU!” He ignores the grumble he hears and continues on, “BUT REALLY, IF YOU WANTED SOMETHING, YOU COULD HAVE JUST ASKED ME! I KNOW HOW TIRED YOU CAN BE AFTER A DAY OF WORK!”

“Tired of you, maybe,” you say, “but I can cook just fine.”

“WHAT NONSENSE!” he declares as he makes his way down the stairs, “I COULD COOK CIRCLES AROUND YOU, HUMAN!”

“Sure, circles,” you say with all the sarcasm in the world, “that’s why we had to install an industrial-grade fire-extinguishing system.”

Papyrus almost frowns at the crass comment from you, but he doesn’t. Instead, he readies a sleazy smile to persuade you with, something to let you know immediately what he’s planning. The kind that makes your face flush and your knees weak. He may not know exactly how to do those things, but that has never stopped him from foolishly following whatever he thinks is going to work. Clearly, no decision he’s made has gone poorly enough for him to doubt his own abilities of charm. Why does he feel like there’s something wrong with that statement?

His pearly whites are drawn in an unbelievably strained smile as he steps into the kitchen. Just as most who want to prepare a dish, you’re currently digging through the cupboard for ingredients. Unfortunately, that also means that you miss his dashing grin, as your lack of attention immediately dashes it to the wind. As the short rush of “Hey look how cool I am” passes, something strikes Papyrus as wrong. He’d have to admit that he’s not 100% on what that thing is, but it really is getting to him.

He takes a deep cleansing breath—and immediately chokes on the flavor in the air. He knows he knows that smell, but something about it also throws him off the scent enough for him to be completely bamboozled by it too. The soft sound of bread being dropped turns his attention back on you. It then turns to the thing you’ve just placed on the table. As soon as he recognizes the… thing on the table, his empty eyes shoot back to you in betrayal. The whole world spins as he clomps his way towards you, every step like a shock to his senses. When he catches sight of the thing in the pan his resolve snaps under its own weight.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!” Papyrus screams, yanking your confused and slightly terrified body closer to his, “YOU _DARE_ PREPARE THE DISH OF MY _BROTHER_? YOU DARE TO MAKE HIS,” a shudder runs through him, “INFERIOR _HOT DOGS_?”

“Uh, yeah?” a twinge of hot anger flicks across your tongue as you speak, “I do dare. But what the hell is the problem?”

Papyrus’ face contorts in disgust, “THE PROBLEM, DEAR, DEAR HUMAN, IS THAT YOU HAVE SOMEONE LIKE ME AND HAVE ACCESS TO MY FOOD, YET YOU WOULD SETTLE FOR THAT GARBAGE MY BROTHER MAKES!”

“And why is THAT such a problem?” you’re trying so hard to keep down your frustration, but Papyrus has always known how to push your buttons.

Papyrus grabs you by the collar and shoves his face into yours, “BECAUSE, YOU. ARE. MINE!” He shakes you around, “YOU ONLY BELONG TO ME! YOU CAN ONLY EAT THE FOOD THAT I SWEAR BY! YOU ARE MY PROPERTY, AND MY PROPERTY EATS WHAT I TELL IT TO!”

You’re not entirely sure what happens next, even though you have front row tickets. All you can remember is your vision going red, followed by a horrible sound. Suddenly, you’re on the other side of the kitchen and Papyrus is cradling the side of his face in shock. It only takes you rubbing your face to notice the pain in your hand, a definite soreness makes you flinch away. It takes a few more seconds for the guilt and sickness to spread into your body, the realization dawning on you slowly. It doesn’t take long after that to notice the betrayal in Papyrus’ eyes, a kind of vulnerable emotion you hardly remember seeing him wear.

He takes a long moment to stare at you, his mouth pulled downward in a chest aching confusion. You weakly reach out to him, disbelief flooding your system. Your heart breaks as he flinches at your motion, your chest feeling hollow in mere seconds. You can’t find the words to say as he stumbles away. The truth is, he can’t find anything to say either—what does he say? What _can_ he say? There isn’t a guide out there that could tell him what to do right then. Neither of you find the answer before his door slams shut and the heavy-duty locks slip into place.

The knobs to the cupboards dig into your back as you slide down to the floor. The guilt in your brain urges that you deserve every modicum of pain after that display, and you can’t help but agree with it. You look at your hand, another wash of sickness going through you at the growing irritated skin. You just fucking slapped him. You just fucking attacked your boyfriend. You know how weak monsters are when you attack with malicious intent, especially when they aren’t expecting it. You could have… _He_ could have…

You find yourself rushing up the stairs before you even notice that you’re upright. You all but slam into Papyrus’ door, which, embarrassingly, was you attempting to knock on it. The startled yelp from inside the door, despite how uncharacteristically weak it sounds, gives you some relief that he didn’t try and escape through the window. Again. Does he not realize that he’s on the second floor or something? Was the ground in the underground softer than regular dirt or something? You don’t know, you’re just glad you won’t have to pay more hospital bills. And that Papy didn’t jump out the window. God, what kind of datemate are you to worry more about insurance bills than the man you just slapped?

“Papyrus?” you knock on the door softer this time (i.e. without your entire body), “you in there?”

There’s a muffled “NYOO HO HO” from the room, followed by bedsheets flopping around.

“Are you ok?” there’s an undeniable crack in your voice.

“NO,” there’s an even more noticeable crack in his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

There’s a worrying growl from the other side of the door, the kind that suggests you should maybe stop bothering him. Fabric violently gets thrown somewhere in the room, the loud swishing a bit nerve-wracking. Even more nerve-wracking are the clicking of his bizarrely tall heels coming slowly towards the door. You don’t have enough time to get out of the way before the door crashes into your face with a fleshy thump. You stumble back before it can do you anymore damage, your vision momentarily going blurry. Once it does clear, you get a lovely sight of The Great and Terrible Papyrus covering his mouth in shock and his eyes filling with tears. He tries to slam the door shut, but you manage to fight the daze long enough to insert yourself into the door. This also hurts you, as he tried to close it really, really hard.

Now you, having been thoroughly assaulted by a door and having assaulted someone yourself, stumble drunkenly into Papyrus’ room. You manage to make it a grand total of 2 steps before your body demands that you stay still. Not wanting to just plop down on his floor, you instead sort of shove your knees against each other so you don’t have to use as many muscles to stay up. Does that make sense? The pounding in your head suggests that it really doesn’t, but you’re not going to stop, of course. You’re still not exactly “still” per say, but you don’t feel like falling over now.

You turn your head towards the shaking spindly black thing a few feet away. Since Papyrus’ bedroom isn’t exactly a palace, that means the thing is pressed into the opposite wall. You realize quickly that it is not a shadow (who ever heard of a shivering shadow? You certainly don’t want to) and instead The Great and Terrible Papyrus looking as upset as you’d ever seen him. You can’t place the feeling in his gaze, but you’re fairly certain it’s somewhere between horror and fury. Two guesses as to why that is.

“YOU SHOULD,” he stutters, “APOLOGIZE.” Your head isn’t quite clear enough to understand completely, and your mouth is too stunned to do the work for you. “APOLOGIZE,” he demands, “FOR HITTING ME.” You’re about to spit one out, but he goes first, “APOLOGIZE FOR NOT APOLOGIZING SOONER.” You’d have to be deaf to miss the brokenness of his voice, “APOLOGIZE FOR HATING ME SO MUCH. APOLOGIZE,” he starts sniffling, “APOLOGIZE FOR MAKING ME FEEL LIKE I DESERVED IT.”

The cloudiness in your head seems to melt away as you rush to hold him, “I’m so sorry, baby.” You try and pretend like his jerking away doesn’t break your heart, “I never meant to hurt you. I really didn’t.”

He takes a deep breath in like he’s trying to brush away all his weakness, “GOOD, GOOD.” Despite his rough demeanor, you can’t help but feel like he’s trying to be cradled by you. “THAT WAS THE CORRECT THING TO DO.” He clears his throat, “I HOPE YOU DIDN’T THINK THAT THE TERRIBLE PAPYRUS WAS GETTING WEAK ON YOU, NOW.”

“Oh, perish the thought,” you say sarcastically.

“THE HIT YOU DID BARELY EVEN DOCKED ME 1 HP.”

“I’m sure.”

“IN FACT, I’M PRETTY SURE IT DID LESS THAN THAT.”

“Mmm not sure if that’s possible.”

“WITH SOMEONE AS WEAK AS YOU, ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.”

“Of course.” It’s so nice to hear him going back to his usual rude self, you were starting to think you slapped that out of him.

“NOW, HUMAN,” he begins to free himself of your death grip, “I’M JUST GOING TO PRETEND THAT NOTHING HAPPENED IN THE KITCHEN AND START ALL OVER.”

“That’s appreciated,” you respectfully take a step back, knowing that he needs a bit of room to emote in his thrashy way.

He puffs up like a peacock, “YOU SEE, HUMAN, I HAVE NOTICED YOUR MOOD AS OF LATE AND I HAVE TO SAY: I DON’T REALLY LIKE IT.”

“That’s too bad,” you say, already feeling anger seeping into your skin, “cause it’s kind of your fault.”

“I FIGURED AS MUCH,” he says, his eyes furrowing in concentration, “I DO BELIEVE IT WAS THE ‘PET’ COMMENT, YES?”

You frown hard, “A little more than that, actually.”

“THE INTERNET TELLS ME,” oh sweet lord this should be good, “THAT YOU ARE UPSET AT ME FOR… TAKING TOO MUCH CONTROL.”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” you say, leaning on your hip for maximum effect. God, you hope he didn’t tell anyone who you were, that’d be an awkward background check.

“YES, YES I KNOW,” he waves his hand dismissively, “HUMAN RELATIONSHIPS REQUIRE THAT ‘GET AND STEAL’ THING, YES?” God, if that wasn’t an illustration of this relationship you don’t know what is.

“You mean give and take?”

“YES THAT ONE!”

“Typically, yes.”

“EXCELLENT!” Papyrus leans into your face, “THEN I HAVE A PROPOSITION.”

You back up a few steps, ready to break for the door, “What would that be?”

“I WANT YOU,” the room rushes as he suddenly pins himself to the wall with your weight, “TO DOM ME!”

You feel like the door probably concussed you, since there is no other rational explanation for the most controlling monster you’ve ever met asking you to “dom” him. The concussion is also probably why that same monster appears to be shivering against the wall. It’s also most likely the reason that he’s got your arms on either side of his head as if you were the one who pinned him there. It has to be the reason that he’s blushing like an anime school girl whose artist was way too into blush marks. It also has to be the reason why you’re not completely against the idea.

To spite the reality that is plainly in front of you, you spin around and start for the door. The fact that you can do that means, of course, that nothing that just happened happened in your mind, but you skillfully ignore that fact. You also ignore the fact that you still feel super bad for hitting the bastard. On top of that, you try to ignore the whine from Papyrus at not feeling your body against his anymore. Most of all, you try and ignore the tiny voice that’s urging you to follow along with his plan.

What you cannot ignore is the sudden cry from Papyrus and the subsequent scuffle that breaks out. Papyrus latches onto your shoulder, his rough claws (though they are cushioned by his gloves) come far too close to penetrating the skin. You hiss from the pain and at his roughness and jerk away involuntarily. He immediately pins you to him with his other arm, effectively lifting you off the ground as he tries to reason with you. Not wanting the bastard to take complete control of you, again, you manage to spin around in his grip. Unfortunately, this only ends with you still in his grip but pressed up against him chest to chest. The way he’s got you against him, your field of view is almost completely restricted to his stupid “Bad Dude” shirt.

 You start barking at him to put you the hell down so you can eat something—he knows, like that damned hotdog you were trying to eat. He barks back that something silly like that can wait—you’ve both got a relationship to mend. The bastard still has you pinned against his body, so there isn’t much you can do to get out of his death grip. You shake him as hard as you can, your hands basically glued to his shoulders and thrashing him back and forth. He starts jerking back from your attempts to push him off, though it does little more but move your little freak show closer to the bed. You feel him stop as a faint “clunk” sound reverberates throughout the room. An even louder “clunk” resounds as you thrust yourself into him. Papyrus grunting is only matched in intensity by your squeal as you both go toppling over each other.

The both of you seem to bounce for a moment as you hit something that your concussed head cannot quite place at the moment. The world is about as dark as it can get, even darker than a dark room mostly blocked by a dark shirt that you were dealing with a few seconds ago. It smells like pasta sauce and bone polish, the tell-tale scent of your skeletal boyfriend, and to be frank his entire room. You managed to stop your head from slamming into whatever it is you just hit, but you can’t find any room to move around and see what that was exactly. It’s hard not to notice how silent the room has become, save for your breathing and quick heartbeat. You definitely should have been told by Papyrus by now that you needed to get off of him, or perhaps some kind of dirty line he heard in a movie.

Feeling tired and generally unmotivated to move from your sudden prison, you calmly rest your head upon whatever you’re lying on. Your chin hits something hard and dry, and your prison suddenly jolts from whatever had been keeping it back. The surprise causes you to jump upwards, only to bump some smooth bars. Now your prison really seizes up, though instead of pushing you out of it, it only serves to push your head deeper in. Your senses, finally returned from being thoroughly pummeled by a door, begin to realize just where you ended up. Before they can share that with you, something glowing white appears in front of you. In a fit of daring, you reach out to the glowy thing with your face and sort of kiss it. When your prison squeals, you suddenly realize what you’ve been doing.

You rocket out of Papyrus’ ribcage faster than you’ve ever done something before. His iron grip doesn’t allow you to shoot off of his bed, but you manage to hover a few inches above him. His face is so red that you almost mistook it for spilled pasta sauce, and his mouth is so wide open that you’re not sure how he could have missed (missed with the metaphorical pasta sauce, that is). His eyes too glow with the tiniest pinpricks of red, the kind of thing that he only does when he’s really surprised. You wouldn’t go so far as to call the look on his face complete and utter betrayal of a degree you’d never seen from him before, but…

“Papy?”

“HUMAN.”

“Did you just…?”

“DID _YOU_ JUST?”

You move your hand up so he can see it, he doesn’t respond. You inch your hand closer to his chest, he doesn’t respond. You slide it under his crop top, skimming across the surface of his ribs as you do, he barely responds. You slip your hand past his ribs and deeper into his chest cavity, he still doesn’t respond. Your hand bumps into something warm and tingly, he squeals and thrusts his head back into the pillows behind him—now that’s a response!

Before he can yell at you for whatever reason he finds, you shove his crop top past his ribs to get a look at whatever is going on inside of him. Sitting pleasantly inside his ribs is a strange, white, upside-down heart that seems to be beating at the speed of sound. The way it expands and contracts is nearly hypnotic, and—in complete juxtaposition to the person it’s sitting inside—calming to look at. Looking back at his face, you think it’s safe to say that it is _not_ having the same effect on him—if the fact his teeth are held so tightly together it’d take the jaws of life to pry them apart was any indication. He still hasn’t yelled at you, you note, though the look on his face is practically a physical shout.

You feel compelled, perhaps by a strange form of passive-aggression, to screw with him a little bit. With your eyes glued to his face, and his eyes glued right back, you slowly lean down until your face is hovering above his ribs. You can faintly see his soul beating a touch faster at your proximity, though, it’s a bit hard to see anything through his ribs. More gently than you have ever been with him, you lay a kiss on his sternum. He tightens his hold against you as you continue your kisses up and up his chest. You continue with kissing each vertebra you come across on your impromptu journey. You lay a few more smooches on his chin and up his jaw until your mouth is in line with where his ear should be.

“Hey little mama,” you begin with an uncontrollable laughing fit, “lemme whisper in your ear—.”

Papyrus screams like a little skeleton and smacks his hands to the side of his face. This finally gives you enough breathing room to get out of the awkward hovering you were doing a second ago. You swing up to sit on your heels, but unfortunately that also means you are basically smooshing your crotch into his. The terrible Papyrus lets out a chalkboard screech as you feel something undeniably warm building under your pelvis. The clashing look of pleasure and horror Papyrus has on his face gives you enough energy to mess with him one last time. You draw your hips back enough for him to notice before you drag yourself across his heated pelvis.

A rush of exhaustion fills you as one of Papyrus’ hands turns a deep blue. The exhaustion is so strong you feel yourself falling forward for the lack of energy. Just before you notice that his soul is now on top of his chest, you realize he just used his signature attack on you, again. Something white-hot and nearly unbearably tingly shocks your body as your chest collides with Papyrus’. You know that he made some noise, but your senses get cut—you can only see white, your ears are ringing, and you can’t focus on anything but the energy going through your system.

As you wait for the feeling to subside, something odd enters your mind. Your stomach clenches as heaviness and something hot swirl around your head, the two opposing forces battling across your unprepared mind. A part of you is screaming about how angry you are, with yourself and everything else. It insists that you need to stop right now, consider if others are watching, your reputation, and other things you dare not say. The other part is demanding that you relax and just go with it, whatever “it” is. It seems to be saying that someone as great as you deserves to be treated like this, after all, the mascot of all monsters deserves good things—wait what?

The surprise of that stray thought gives you just enough awareness to push yourself off of Papyrus’ chest. The brightness in your eyes is clear, as is the ringing in your ears, and the unbearable hot-tingly feeling escapes with them. What you are left with is a thoroughly confused and exhausted Papyrus, a soul that feels like you’ve just drank several gallons of coffee or perhaps taken ecstasy, and an uncomfortable wet feeling in your nethers. Fearing the worst, you pry yourself apart from the sticky warmth of your skeleboyfriend’s crotch—and yes, he’s jizzed his pants and now it’s on you Goddammit Papyrus.

You teeter on your heels until you fall with an unceremonious plop onto the rear of his bed. He slowly, terrifically slowly, shifts until he’s leaning on his elbows. He doesn’t meet your eyes, not even when you practically kick him in the femur. What he can’t hide, if that’s what he’s trying to do, is the glowing red mass poking out of his short-shorts.

“So,” you clear your throat, “can I ask you… a question?”

“SURE,” he whispers.

“Yeah, uh, what the fuck?” you gesture to the “bone” popping out of the waistband of his pants. Although it is an impossible feat, you also gesture to the weird squealing he was doing earlier, the fluster at intimacy, his soul appearing out of nowhere, and most of all the freak show that went on just a moment ago.

Papyrus doesn’t answer you for a moment, his body shaking at your question. Then, he springs up on his feet and begins screaming, “YOU DARE TOUCH THE TERRIBLE PAPYRUS LIKE THAT? YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO SOMEONE AS GREAT AS ME?” You try not to burst out laughing at the fact that his quick motions made his cock pop all the way out of its leather prison—you’ve tortured him enough today. Or have you? “YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALTZ IN HERE, PUSH ME TO THE BED, AND START PLAYING WITH MY SOUL? YOU BELIEVE YOU CAN JUST START MASSAGING MY BONES AND—AND KISS ME LIKE THAT?”

His voice beings to waver and warble into something you haven’t heard from him before, something soft. “AND TOUCH ME SO SOFTLY LIKE ONE OF ALPHYS’ ANIMES THAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW I KNOW ABOUT? AND CONNECT WITH ME ON SUCH A DEEP LEVEL I CAN HEAR YOUR VERY THOUGHTS?” The only way you can describe the look on his face is “blushing shota protagonist” and the fact that it’s the edgiest monster you’ve ever met is only making it funnier.

The way he blushes and avoids your eyes tells you that this is a very intimate and important moment, but, “I still have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

Papyrus shrieks and kicks you off the bed in the way he normally does when you two play wrestle (he calls it “soft training” but you know better), “DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND ANYTHING?!”

“No,” you honestly respond.

Papyrus plops down on all fours and leans over the side of the bed, where you are currently laying comfortably, “IT’S JUST LIKE YOU TO NOT GET SOMETHING LIKE THIS.”

“Not get what?” you say spitefully, the anger bubbling up once again, “you jizzing after a little bit of heavy petting? And kissing?” You dare to sit up and push your face into his, hissing seductively into the side of his face, “The fact that the Terrible Papyrus gets off on being vanilla?”

Papyrus gasps but doesn’t move away from you, “SO YOU DID KNOW? HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN ABOUT THE SOULS?”

You chuckle, falling back down to the floor, “Nah, I’m still confused about that soul thing, but uh, it wasn’t hard to notice your… ‘kink’.”

“OH,” Papyrus clears his throat, “I SEE.”

“Are you embarrassed?” you giggle.

“NO.”

“About other people knowing the Terrible Papyrus—”

 “NO.”

“Gets off on—”

“NO.”

“Being the—”

“NO!”

“Bitch?”

            Papyrus shrieks and lunges at you like some kind of boney gargoyle. You giggle and squeal as he playfully rolls around with you on the floor. You can tell, from many, many times that you’ve both play wrestled, that he’s holding back way more than usual. Sometimes you end up with bruises the size of cups from him getting way too rambunctious—not that he doesn’t dote on you afterwards, of course. He seems to be more… cuddling with you. Violently. You, emboldened by whatever the hell just went down, pin him to the ground. Instead of throwing you off or reversing your positions (you were leaving yourself wide open for him to do just that) Papyrus just blushes and looks up to you. The next moment, white is radiating from his chest just like it had been before.

“Ok yeah,” you point to his chest, “that’s what I’m confused about.”

Papyrus seems beside himself, until he looks down at his chest, “OH, THAT. THAT’S MY, UH, SOUL.”

“I gathered that,” you glare at him in confusion, “but what the hell is it doing outside your body? Or hidden away, or whatever.”

Papyrus flaps his mouth open and closed a few times, clearly not entirely prepared for this conversation, “WELL, YOU SEE, HUMAN, WHEN A MONSTER IS FEELING VERY RELAXED AND VERY… AROUSED, SOMETIMES THEIR SOUL TRIES TO BOND WITH THEIR MATE.” You can’t help but feel like you’re being given The Talk all over again, “WHEN THAT HAPPENS, TWO MONSTERS CAN… PUT THEIR SOULS TOGETHER. THIS ALLOWS THEM TO SHARE THEIR EMOTIONS AND FEELINGS DIRECTLY. IT’S… KIND OF A BIG DEAL.”

“Is that why I started feeling so weird? When we touched souls or whatever?” Your face grows cross, “If it’s such a big deal, why haven’t you told me about it before?”

Papyrus flushes, “BECAUSE!” he shrieks, “THAT’S ABOUT AS INTIMATE AS YOU CAN BE WITH A PERSON! BESIDES! I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW IF IT WAS POSSIBLE WITH A HUMAN!”

“Well why haven’t I seen this happening before?” you wish you could just shut up, but you just know he’s hiding something from you.

“WELL, UH,” Papyrus scratches his head, “I… GUESS I NEVER FELT THAT… RELAXED BEFORE?” He catches himself, “AT LEAST WHEN WE HAVE SEX! YOU KNOW, THAT’S WHEN THAT KIND OF THING IS SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN?”

“Did you not… enjoy, our sex before?”

“NO! NO! NOTHING LIKE THAT!” He waves his arms like he’s trying to put out a fire, “IT’S JUST THAT… NORMALLY I’M TRYING SO HARD TO GET IT RIGHT, I JUST HAVE A HARD TIME RELAXING?” He mumbles, “WHY DOES THAT SOUND SO BAD?”

You look down at Papyrus, still in denial that your edgy as hell boyfriend is looking at you with those soft, vulnerable eyes. Your eyes trail down his spine and go to his waist, where his member is still standing at full attention and very much spilling out of his pants. The sight of him so visibly aroused plants a rather nasty idea into your head. You begin to stroke his ribs through his shirt, drawing out a gentle moan from the skeleton beneath you.

“Papy,” you hum, “I have a proposition for you.” He doesn’t respond with much other than not rejecting you, so you continue. “I think I can take you up on your offer to dom you,” he looks excited, “as long as I get to do it really, really gently,” and it fades.

“I DON’T KNOW IF THAT’S WHAT THE INTERNET PEOPLE MEANT.”

“Well, it is supposed to be me domming you, right?”

“YES…?”

“So that means we get to do what I want?”

“YES?”

“Well,” you say as you slide your hips into his again, “I want to treat you really nicely, like I know you’ve always wanted, how does that sound?”

Papyrus gets a flashback to a fantasy of him getting awoken by a shower of kisses, that fading dream he dashed a long time ago. “I’LL BE POPULAR,” he mumbles to himself, “AND RESPECTED AND FEARED AND—.”

“Is that a yes?” you say, hoping to snap him back to the here and now.

“HUH?” he mutters, “SURE WHATEVER—AND PEOPLE WILL LOVE ME…”


	2. The second bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dunno, it's part two. Have fun I guess.... I meant to post this on wednesday but I literally forgot about it for two whole days. Enjoy.

“I DON’T SEE HOW THIS FITS INTO ‘TREATING ME REALLY NICELY’, HUMAN,” Papyrus mumbles as he pulls awkwardly on the satin ropes you tied him up with, “THIS ISN’T EXACTLY… VANILLA.”

You scoff as you check the restraint for his foot, “You said the exact same thing about the dress,” you gesture to the frilly dress you insisted he wore.

“THAT’S BECAUSE IT ISN’T!” he squirms a little harder, “WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET THIS? IT FITS ME PERFECTLY.”

You hum in appreciation at the way the dress squeezes around his waist. You’re especially glad you found one that fans out like some kind of cute little flower—or was it more supposed to resemble a cupcake? Ah, you couldn’t care. It’s so short that it doesn’t even cover up his thighs, the poofy fabric stopping at around mid-thigh. You especially love the cutesy top half, and how it shows off his ribs through the fabric. Honestly, you feel like you’ve been waiting a lifetime to see Papyrus all _dolled up_.

…You have been spending way too much time with Sans.

“That’s for me to know,” you say, memories of meticulously measuring him while he slept flashing in front of your mind, “and you to never find out.”

Papyrus groans and falls back (as much as he can with the restraints) onto the bed, the defeat in his eyes making you feel giddy. To be truthful, you could have probably done this without the restraints, and the dress. You had given it some thought, actually. But then you couldn’t help but think back on all the times he had made you feel like a second-class citizen, or a pet, or a… whatever. Honestly, this is far less about playing with the kink you’ve just discovered about Papyrus, and more about revenge. Just, frilly, soft, gentle, vanilla revenge. Also, you had been waiting to make Papyrus wear that dress for ages and you needed an excuse—you can’t kink shame yourself why are you trying to.

The frustration of shaming yourself causes you to tie the last restraint a little more tightly than you would have otherwise. Not that he’d ever let you tie _him_ up before—even though you were certain it would be great—so you’re just going on instinct, really. Whatever the case is, seeing Papyrus spread eagle in a frilly dress is more than enough to get you riled up. He just looks so… venerable, so helpless to anything you could throw at him. Fuck you can’t wait to do… everything to him.

The real question is: where should you start?

“HUMAN?” Papyrus questions after the awkward pause you took to check him out, “AREN’T YOU GOING TO DO… SOMETHING?” He squirms again, “LITERALLY ANYTHING?”

You frown, though even he could tell it was practiced, “Who told you you could talk?”

“NO ONE,” he answers bluntly, “YOU ALSO DIDN’T TELL ME I COULDN’T TALK.”

You bite your lip; does he always have to ruin things? You decided that you’re done talking at the frilly brick wall in your bed, and so you settle for crawling over it instead. You don’t miss the way that his “friend” skims over your chest and down to your hips as you attempt to meet him face to face. He can act like a brat all he wants, you chuckle to yourself, but he is terrible at hiding the truth. You let the seam of your zipper delicately scrap him through the dress, eliciting a particularly pathetic whine from the Terrible Papyrus.

You grin at him, your giddiness for all of this shining through your dark mouth. You don’t give him a chance to ruin the good mood you’re in by slamming your lips onto his teeth. As usual, the feeling of just teeth without any lips sends shivers down your spine—a more primal side of your brain insisting you run away from the unknown threat. As par for the course, though, you ignore it and instead focus on how fascinating bone needs against your lips. You focus on how it feels when he groans and “kisses” back (it’s more like rubbing his teeth against you, but it works nonetheless).

You can feel tension rising in him as you force his mouth open so you can prod around inside. You just know he wants to complain how he’s usually the one doing that, but he doesn’t (probably because his mouth is a little busy but still that’s progress). Your tongue does its best not to knock into the sharp edges of his teeth, and for his part Papyrus keeps himself nice and still. His tongue, there’s no mistaking the hot, prickly feeling of it, tentatively comes out of where ever it was hiding and intertwines with yours. It’s almost shocking to not feel him try to push against you or lead you, but it is certainly a nice change of pace.

The head board of his bed creaks in protest as he desperately tries to touch you or whatever a villainous skeleton would want with you. The ribbons you tied him with, though they couldn’t hurt him if he tried, are still strong enough to hold him back. You giggle mischievously into his open mouth as he groans irritably into yours. You let him lick your tongue as you lick back, relishing the succulent feeling of his magic seeping into your mouth. Just feeling him hold so much back as he tries to pretend like he’s still all powerful is almost intoxicating.

You trail your hands down from his flushing face to the front of his dress. You play with the bows and frills along his rib cage leisurely, knowing that without a doubt you have enough time to do pretty much whatever you want. You trace along the outline of his ribs as your kisses turn chaste—more for the changing of your attention rather than the loss of interest. Papyrus shivers and twitches as you so gently stroke along all his sensitive spots. Normally, you might bite them or lick them or something other than this gentle touching. He’d be lying to himself if he said it wasn’t nice, but he’s very good at lying to himself.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Papyrus groans against your lips—and you really mean _groans_ —he is getting pissed with something you’re doing.

“What ever do you mean, Papy dearest?” you hiss sickly-sweetly into his teeth, “I’m just loving up on you.”

“I _MEAN_ ,” he sucks in a breath as you ghost over his battle scars, “WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME SO SOFTLY? DO SOMETHING INTERESTING ALREADY!”

You grin like a starving wolf at its inevitable prey, “Have you already forgotten, dearest?”

Papyrus squirms, “FORGOTTEN WHAT?”

You stop touching him for a tick; the desperate noise he makes is a symphony of denial and need. Rather violently, you slam your hands to either side of his head making the already unnerved skeleton jump as much as his restraints will allow. So slowly you might miss it if you aren’t paying attention, you push yourself up so he can fully see the cruel look on your face. In doing so, you slide your legs so that way your crotch is hovering above his. It isn’t close enough for him to feel the seam of your pants on his member, but the way he arches up tells you he knows it could be.

“Today, right now,” his eyes widen as if he had forgotten he had asked a question, “I am the one in control.” All at once, you begin to gyrate your crotch against his head, not enough to hurt but pretty damn near close with how sensitive it is. He whines in agonized pleasure as you whisper into his ear, “I can do things as much as I want,” He whines again, harshly this time as you draw your hips away from him, “or as little as I want.” You take the other side of his head and move it so you’re kissing the side of his skull, “All I want to do is make you feel good, dearest.”

“I THINK,” he stutters out as your hips fall back onto his, “THAT YOU JUST WANT TO TEASE ME.”

“Oh?” you playfully hum as you relocate your hands to his back, so you can play with his spine, “is that right?”

Papyrus lets out something like a hushed shriek as your devilish hands work his tense spine, “I THINK IT IS! RIGHT, I MEAN!” He shudders as you begin to undo the laces keeping his dress on, “I THINK YOU ARE TRYING TO TEASE ME!”

“Tease you?” you rumble right into where you’re fairly certain his ear is, “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” Even when the final lace is undone, you don’t pull the dress off. Instead, you take a more direct approach to massaging his aching spine. “I’m just trying to make my dearest Papy feel good.”

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE!” Papyrus says, trying so desperately to hide his arousal that it’s almost charming. Almost.

You sit back on your heels, the loss of contact drawing out the most pathetic little whine from Papy you’ve ever heard. You take a moment to just look at him, to look at the mess you’ve reduced him to in the small amount of time you’ve been touching him. His face is basically as red as blood, despite the fact that skeletons should not be able to blush. His chest is heaving with either the excitement of your actions or the exhaustion, another thing he should have no ability to do. Small red pinpricks in his eyes are trained on you, watching your every movement like you’re his entire world, never thought you’d see him looking at you like that at all.

“All you seem to want to do is complain,” you hiss as you uncover his manhood, “but if your body is anything to go by,” his ecto-penis pops out, hard as a rock, “you can’t fucking get enough.”

Papyrus groans despite himself, and despite how he thought this was going to go. At first, he figured that maybe you were going to go super hard on him, whips, chains, the whole shebang. But then you started off so soft—despite the ropes and odd attire. Now though, you’re almost acting just like he thought you would be. He might not understand exactly how that all makes him feel, but his body seems to be on board with it.

You hiss at his lack of a response, “Isn’t that right, Papy?” You begin to ever so lightly jerk him off, his odd magic flesh flexing for your movements, “you can’t get enough of this, can you?”

“NO, I CAN’T,” he spits out at last, venom in his words for his broken-down pride.

The cruelty in his words is picked up by you. In response you stroke him just the tiniest bit slower, but you squeeze him twice as hard, “You fucking love when I’m this soft with you, don’t you?”

He gasps, bucking upwards to escape and yet get more of the feeling you’re giving him, “YES, I DO.”

“You fucking love it when I tease you like this, don’t you?”

Papyrus whines as you add a twist to your rhythmic motions, “YES, YES I DO!”

Your face flushes with the boldness in your words, “You fucking _love_ being my little slut, don’t you?”

Papyrus grunts, the idea of being a ‘slut’ sending equal parts heat and shame to his nethers, “YES, I DO?”

You lean down so your lips just barely touch his head, “Say it then.”

He groans like a proper whore, the warmth of your lips touching his most sensitive spot making him ignore his pride if just for a moment, “I LOVE BEING YOUR LITTLE SLUT.”

Your grin turns Cheshire as a bead of pre-cum oozes onto your lips, “Say you love being my good little boy, say it.”

Papyrus shrieks as your sinfully hot tongue licks up his arousal, “FUCK—I LOVE BEING YOUR GOOD LITTLE BOY!” There’s no trace of pride or anything of the sort left in his tone, only the desperation of a man who never let himself appear weak.

“Fuck yes you do,” you growl as you take him into your mouth, “fuck yes you do.”

He can’t understand what you say as you muffle yourself with his cock, but he really doesn’t care. His mind is a dangerous swirl of shame for his words, pleasure for the actions you take, and a strange feeling of comfort for not having to lift a finger. For a monster like him, a monster in a world where kill or be killed was the norm, this treatment is almost alien. There’s a familiarity in the cruelness behind your words, and the demands on your lips, but everything else is foreign.

Even though there is venom in you, there’s also kindness and a genuine want to make him feel good. Even though the demands you give are… perverse and very inappropriate, the softness in (some) of them is intoxicating to him. It’s not like you’re asking him to beat someone up or to die, instead you’re just demanding he tell you how good you make him feel. He can’t lie, it’s weird, and not necessarily in the best way. But it isn’t bad either, just… different. That being said, he thinks as his rational thought fades from your practiced motions, this does feel sinfully good.

As the Terrible Papyrus mewls pathetically, bucking his hips upwards into your eager mouth, you continue to suck on him like a spicy lollipop. It’s so wonderful, you think to yourself as he whines about something or other, so delicious to have such a proud monster at your mercy. Though you might have believed that maybe he was hating this, you’ve never seen him get so hard so fast. Nor have you felt him this close to cumming after such a short time of doing anything to him. You smirk around his member, too quickly, you think.

You thrust your head forward, deep throating the shrieking monster for one glorious second before you pull back completely. You can tell, through many nights with the skeleton, that he was most likely a few seconds from cumming. He basically screams bloody murder as he thrusts his hips up and up trying to get his rocks off. He thrashes against the loose bindings, not enough to break them, but damn near close. The amount of restraint he’s showing is near godlike, but you aren’t about to praise him just yet.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, HUMAN?!” Papyrus screams, “KEEP SUCKING!”

“No,” you gloat, “I won’t.”

Papyrus almost snaps his neck with how fast he looks at you, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HUMAN?” He thrashes like he’s having a temper tantrum, “I NEED TO COME NOW!” He proceeds to screech “now” over and over again as he shakes the bed so hard it sounds like you’re already having sex.

You put your hands on your hips, the look of Papyrus losing his cool making you bold, “Not unless you do something for me.”

He scoffs, “LIKE WHAT? DO YOU WANT ME TO BEG AGAIN?” He dons the most pathetic voice he can muster (which doesn’t sound that different from his regular voice), “WON’T YOU PLEASE FUCK ME? I’VE BEEN SUCH A GOOD BOY.”

“Have you now?” You didn’t expect him to actually play along past when you asked him to, but you’re not going to complain. “I think all you’ve done is let me suck your cock, that’s hardly being a good boy.”

“THAN WHAT THE HELL SHOULD I DO HUMAN?!” You think he just broke the sound barrier, “WANT ME TO DRESS IN DRAG AND DANCE THE HULA?!”

“You’re already doing one of those things.”

“HUMAN!” Ok now he really did break the sound barrier holy hell, “JUST DO SOMETHING ALREADY!”

You sit up on your knees, making him whine once more for the loss of your heat, and smirk at the desperate skeleton before you. You make certain that his eyes are on you (which is almost impossible on account of him not having any pupils) before you drag your hands down your body. You start at your neck, skimming over a few healing love bites in the process. You drag them down your chest, taking a moment to tease your nipples through your shirt. They go down your belly, all the way to the top of your pants.

You slide your pants off as you crawl your way up his body. It’s sort of an awkward shuffle, but it’s totally worth it if it means you get to tease him even more. You don’t miss the way he groans as you skim past his member, or the way he groans louder as you move past it. Your pants actually get caught on him, a fact he’s very quick to squeak out in pleasured agony. You ignore him and continue on your little journey until his (rather unsettling) teeth are just below your covered entrance.

By the way he’s looking at you (i.e. with a flushed face and wide eyes) that he probably understands what you’re getting at. He doesn’t move an inch, though. You can’t even feel his magic, so he must’ve not summoned a tongue yet. He’s just staring at you, staring at your crotch, and then back to you.

“You waiting for an invitation?” you scowl, slamming your hips down onto his face, “start licking!”

He tries to say something snarky, probably about how this isn’t very vanilla, but he just ends up letting you fall into his mouth, effectively gagging him. Having his razor-sharp teeth that close to such a sensitive part of you is… a little more nerve wracking than you thought it’d be. His teeth poke into you, not enough to break skin, but plenty enough to hurt. You attempt to find a positon that isn’t choking him and hurting you, resulting in you sitting back up on your knees.

“Hey Paps,” you grunt.

“YESH?” he responds, you muffling his mouth.

“Do you think you could be a dear and not dig your teeth into me?”

“LIKE FUCKING WHAT?”

You stop yourself from slamming back into his face, just to let him know how difficult he’s being, “Please, my sweet, use your tongue!” You hiss with all the sickly sweet affection you can muster.

Papyrus growls and snakes his long red tongue out from the den of his mouth, almost as if to spite you, and flicks it across your covered clit far too hard. You wince—he certainly didn’t let you warm up at all—but a pleased squeak comes out of you at the same time. His warm, sticky tongue swirls around it, the very tip of his tongue skimming just enough around it to be on the very edge of too much and not enough. Even through your panties are in the way, the tiny sparks from his magic still get through to your core. It’s almost as if someone is overwhelming each individual neuron at a time. It’s absolutely perfect—but you’re certainly not going to tell him that.

His weird tongue (that he doesn’t use for judging his own food) slips past your panties; it skims your pussy lips carefully, avoiding actually touching anything too sensitive. You know, from personal experience from his sinful tongue, that he’s doing that on purpose. He often uses his damnable tongue to undo you, you think he gets a kick out of seeing you lose your mind under his hand. Or, tongue. Bastard.

A sudden jolt rockets through your body as he flicks your clit directly. You realize you must have zoned out on his repetitive motions, enough to have missed him slipping his tongue farther past your panties. He doesn’t give you enough time to react before he’s swirling his tongue around it, blocking your higher thinking. Your body inches upwards, trying to escape from the assault of tickling pleasure in any way it can, foolishly missing how much you needed him to keep doing that.

It’s sloppy, his frantic attack on your clit, and fittingly desperate for a man tied up and quickly losing the edge of his orgasm. His tongue is almost painful, with his natural heat and the prickling of his magic, especially when he deems it necessary to lick you directly. You find that knot in your belly rushing towards an orgasm you aren’t ready for. You plop down onto Papyrus’ face once more, your mind too lost to consider that you’re probably going to end up getting poked again. Instead, you land on his closed teeth—you forgot that he could summon a tongue even with his mouth closed.

You squirm and shudder your way out of your panties, the disruptive clothing finding their place on the floor along with your pants. With the way now open, Papyrus slips his tongue inside you, earning him a chocked cry of something like “fuck yes you little bitch tongue fuck me yesssss”. He happily complies, shooting his long appendage into your depths. You lean forward and bite the headboard, trying to muffle the scream he drags out of you. He explores you for a sweet moment, massaging the flesh with his motions.

It flicks back out to all but slap your clit, before diving back in at a breakneck pace. A sickening, sloppy, wet slipping sound fills the room along with your pathetic whines and moans. They’re close to screams, sounds Papyrus is unfortunately very much so acquainted with (and not necessarily from you). His tongue pops in and out of you, over and over again nearly at the pace of his usual thrusting.

As you soak him in your juices, he recognizes the way that you clench around him—and he knows exactly what to do. Too quickly for you to complain, he opens his mouth just enough so some of his teeth surround your clit. At the same time, he slips his tongue out of your hole and wraps it around the same little spot. That alone urges the knot to begin to snap, forcing you to bite down even harder on the wooden headboard. You shriek into the wood as he begins to hum, his teeth and tongue turning into a makeshift vibrator.

Your vision goes white or black, you can’t tell, as heat rushes through your belly. You can’t hear anything, not your shrieking or the sound of the bed squeaking under your frantic motions. Papyrus’ humming is all your mind can really focus on, and even that is kind of a distant buzzing. It might have even stopped at one point, you couldn’t tell. You’re vaguely aware of your hands squeezing his skull, trying to get that pain filled pleasurable feeling closer to you.

As the fog in your brain languidly lifts, you become surer that something is happening beneath you. Mostly because you can feel Papyrus’ comically sharp teeth beginning to poke you again. In the clit. Ouch. You lean yourself back onto your knees, albeit as you shake like a leaf in the middle of the road, to escape from his shark teeth. As your legs shake even harder, you realize that you can’t handle this for much longer. You scooch back and balance on his chest, hopefully not enough to hurt him.

“Yes, Papyrus?” you grunt from the strain of keeping yourself upright, “did you want something?”

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD,” Papyrus starts, his voice clogged by your cum, “TOUCH MY COCK, PLEASE, PLEASE TOUCH MY COCK.”

“What?” you drawl, your mind focusing more on how shiny his face is now rather than his pleas.

“HUMAN!” Papyrus voice cracks under the strain of both you on top of him and the explosion waiting in his pelvis, “I CAN TAKE THE DRESS, I CAN TAKE THE RESTRAINTS, I CAN TAKE YOUR LITTLE ATTITUDE, BUT I CANNOT TAKE THIS!” He thrusts his hips upward, his “friend” stabbing you in the back and leaving behind a bead of pre, “FINISH ME OFF OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!”

“Jeez Papy,” you say, not really caring anymore that he’s taking back some modicum of control, “fine I’ll do it just don’t get your panties in a knot.”

“I’LL GET YOUR PANTIES IN A KNOT IF YOU DON’T SUCK ME OFF!”

“Tough words coming from a guy in a loli dress.”

“HUMAN!”

You giggle like one can only do after they’ve cum, which is to say completely out of it and a little spacey. “Alright, alright,” you twist around to face his member, “I’m on it.”

As per usual, his magic is hot—not enough to burn, but enough to surpass any flesh you’ve ever felt. You don’t dare take enough in your mouth to choke, or to give Papy too much pleasure, vouching instead to massage the rest of him by hand. Having him in your mouth, you muse as your tongue plays with the ridges of his manhood, is a little like trying to eat a hotpocket out of the microwave except the hotpocket moans a lot and also you can’t eat it. It’s almost kinda spicy, too. Actually, now that you’re thinking about it, it almost reminds you of—.

His hard cock pops out of your mouth with a wet tearing sound as you recoil up onto your knees. Papyrus yelps as his wet dong flops uselessly into the cold air, made worse by how warm your mouth was. As you push yourself hastily off the bed, you can hear his bones shaking and you’re honestly afraid to whether or not it’s from the cold or from the anger he’s surely overcome with. You want to say something like an apology, or tell him what you’re doing, but there’s literally no time.

You never turned the stove off.

You barely manage to throw the door closed before you’re all but falling down the stairs trying to get to the kitchen. Your foot catches on the last step, sending you barreling down to the ground like some kind of slinky. You take a moment to lie at the end of the stairs in a heap of afterglow, panic, and a little bit of pain. The next moment, you fling yourself towards the kitchen, tripping over yourself all the way. You’re nearly surprised when you grab the doorframe to the kitchen—you weren’t sure you’d actually make it. You swing your body into the kitchen, half expecting to see a plume of smoke or a giant fire, but instead—.

“’sup, human?”

Oh come the fuck on. You suppose that would be why you didn’t smell any smoke, or hear any fire alarms, or feel any fire. That hardly seems like a reward or a relief now, though, considering what you do have to deal with.

“human? i’m talking to you here!”

You rub at your eyes, “Hello, Sans.”

Sans grins at you with his shark-like teeth, the golden one glinting in the light, “were you the one who started the burner?” He gestures to a—oh dear—blackened pan in the sink.

“Er, yeah, sorry about that,” internally you can’t help but think of several excuses for why that happened and failing that how much it’ll cost to replace it.

The ever-grinning skeleton leans back onto the counter, one hand nonchalantly tapping at the counter, “what happened?” You don’t miss the feigned concern in his voice, or the leer he’s giving you.

“Why do you want to know?” you say just a little too quickly.

“don’t i deserve to know why things happen around here?” he puts one hand on his chest, his voice a mocking sorrow, “all i want is a little explanation.”

“That’s easy,” you say after a few moments of silence, “I got distracted from making hotdogs.” It isn’t a lie, of course, but you know that isn’t exactly what he wanted.

Instead of frowning or threatening you to tell him the whole story, Sans just smiles even wider, “oh really?”

“Yeah,” you say, feeling like you got away with it.

“are you sure?” he says as he begins to walk towards you.

“Yeah?” you say, taking a step back.

“positive?” he says as he pins you to the side of the kitchen with his intimidation alone.

“Yeah?” you squeak, trying to find a way out of this.

You squeak again as Sans chuckles one of his “I’ve got you right where I want you” chuckles. He leans into you, not really touching you but getting close enough that the distinction is pretty much pointless. He tucks his face into the crook of your neck, taking in a deep, noisy breath. If there was a way to do it, you would have just died from mortification. You might be better off that way, honestly, since there’s pretty much no way he’s going to let you live this down. The only good thing you can think of is that Papyrus isn’t here to share in your suffering. The insensitive prick.

Sans ever so slowly brings himself out of your personal bubble, catching your mortified eyes with his, “you certainly smell distracted.”

“Yeah,” you say in a voice far too high to be your own, “that is what I said.”

“sure seems like it,” Sans muses as his eyes trail down your body. A shiver wracks your body as he licks his teeth—slimy bastard.

When his eyes flick down to your crotch for the 4th time, you suddenly realize something. Your hands immediately go to your hips, desperately trying to cover up as much as you can. Sans doubles over, guffawing like he’s never heard a better joke, managing to fall down to the floor in a sweaty pile of second hand embarrassment and cruel hilarity. You’re almost certain that if there was a way to die from embarrassment, you’d be in Hell right now crying to the devil about how much of an idiot you were. Just like in some horrible, cliché dream…

You forgot to put your pants on. Or underwear. And, if that warm thing dripping down your thigh is anything to go by, literally oozing Papyrus’ spit.

Good. Lord.

You don’t even stick around long enough to hear him tell you how disgusting you are, or long enough to express how disgusting he is. Instead, you high tail it upstairs like the devil himself is riding your ass in a desperate attempt to save any remaining parts of your dignity. You’re fairly certain you ran into several things on your way up, but you’re going so fast and you’re in such a panic you don’t really care. One last time, you hope, you slam into Papyrus’ door trying to get the damn thing open.

The door frame creaks in protest as you slam it shut, locking it to prevent any perverts (Sans) from seeing what the both of you are doing—even though you’re 99% sure your little display back there told him far more than he needed to know. Even though he acted like it was hilarious, you know for a fact that he’s probably dying inside from pretty much being assured that his brother was fucking. You’d like to believe that it was his fault that he didn’t just leave once he noticed your pants were off, or that he had to fucking sniff you. You rub at your eyes, wondering how on the planet your life led you to this weird-ass moment.

Your eyes are still covered when you feel something latch onto your leg. Before you realize what it is, the heat of the thing makes you jolt back into the door. It doesn’t resist you moving back, but it stays firmly wrapped around your leg. The thing is wrapped around your thigh and calf, digging into your skin with its sharp claws. You would assume it was Papyrus, but you doubt he managed to get himself out of his bonds, not to mention the fact that what’s ever on your leg is rubbing something unbearable warm into your calf… who are you kidding? Of course it’s Papyrus.

You slowly, ever so slowly, peak open your eyes to see what the fuck Papyrus is doing this time.  You are greeted with the sight of the Terrible Papyrus humping your leg with the most desperate look on his face that you’ve ever seen. His eyes are nearly closed in concentration, his mouth is open from him panting, and the dress you made him wear is just barely clinging onto him at this point. He’s incredibly pathetic looking at the moment. You have the sudden urge to fuck him into the ground.

“Papyrus?” you say, your voice weak from the shock, “what are you doing?”

He takes a moment before he responds, his voice wavering, “I CAN’T STAND THE FUCKING WAIT! FUCK ME IMMEDIATELY OR FACE THE CONSEQUENCES!”

You roll your eyes, leave it to him to make begging sound more like an order, “Maybe if you asked me nicely, Papyrus.”

 You expect hesitation, maybe him to pop up on his feet and fuck you harshly against the wall. What you do not expect is for him to start sobbing in desperation and to hump your leg with 10x the intensity. “PLEASE, HUMAN! I’VE BEEN SUCH A GOOD BOY!” There are actual tears running down his face, “I DID EVERYTHING YOU ASKED! I KEPT THE DRESS ON! I DID ALL OF THAT! PLEASE JUST FUCK ME!” his voice leaks out like a balloon into a whimpering cry.

Your mouth fully drops open, a wet pop joining in on Papyrus’ many desperate pleas. Once again, you question how on the planet Earth this could be happening. There is no fucking way that Papyrus, dominate, on-top-of-things Papyrus was prostrating at your feet and begging you to fuck him. A warmth that you had been forced to ignore downstairs crashes into your heat like a bullet train. The kind of cruel smile that only he can give stretches across your face as you look upon what you’ve made of him.

You ever-so-slowly bring his chin up so he’s looking at you, “Papyrus,” you purr in a smooth voice you didn’t know you had, “have you really been a good boy?”

His mouth is fully opened, shock across his face as if he wasn’t aware he had said that, “YES?” he says hesitantly.

You hum, “I don’t think you really have.”

He whines, “BUT I HAVE!” he screams like a brat, “I DID EVERYTHING YOU ASKED SO FAR!”

You point to the ribbon still tied around his arm, “you got out of your bonds without my permission, love.” You lean into his ear, ignoring the slight pain in your back, “doesn’t seem very good to me.”

“BUT…” his voice wavers like the breeze, “YOU DIDN’T TELL ME I COULDN’T?” You don’t miss how he shakes against your grip, or the way he averts his eyes.

You smile at him calmly for a moment, before you jerk his head up so he’s looking right at you, “I didn’t fucking think I’d have to.”

“SORRY,” he whispers.

“I thought it would be obvious,” you ponder out loud.

“I’M SORRY,” he says a little louder.

“That was awfully naughty,” you hiss into his skull.

“I’M SORRY!” he says just a touch louder.

“You’ve been a very, _very_ bad boy Papyrus.”

Papyrus full on moans, “I’M SO SORRY HUMAN!” He squirms as if he’s trying to get himself off, “I’M SO SORRY!”

“Have you been a bad boy?” you say, feeling yourself starting to get intoxicated on the feeling of control.

“YES, I HAVE!” Papyrus squeals, still holding onto your leg.

“What did you do wrong?”

“I…” he pauses for a moment, like he’s trying to find the perfect set of words to get you to get him off, “SLIPPED OUT OF MY RESTRAINTS?”

“Yes you did,” you say sternly, “and are you sorry?”

He gives out something that would have been a growl if he hadn’t been so weak at the moment, “I ALREADY SAID THAT!” He quickly corrects himself, “SO, YES! I HAVE.”

You purr as you nudge his erection with your foot, “And how are you going to make it up to me?”

Papyrus rocks back and forth, rubbing himself into your leg some more as he tries to think of something to say. “I… I DON’T KNOW!” he screeches at last, “I’LL DO ANYTHING! PLEASE JUST TOUCH ME!” He breaks out into a flurry of “touch me, touch me” over and over again.

Your chest swells with pride and a strange sense of accomplishment you really haven’t felt before. Without thinking about it too hard, you push Papyrus to the ground with your foot. Him not expecting it, yelps as he’s suddenly toppled over out of nowhere. Seeing Papyrus pinned underneath your foot with a girly dress on and desperate tear trails running down his face overwhelms you with a malicious sort of pride.

You’re still wearing your shoes as neither of you had time to remove them (plus it made you feel a little more on top of things for some reason) and you can tell that the soles are digging into Papyrus’ ribs. This is mainly because his face is contorted in a pain-pleasure mix you’ve only heard that you could make. His eyes are struggling to stay open, he’s gasping for more air as the situation keeps stealing it away from him, his hands are clutching at your legs as if he’s trying to topple you over.

“THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, HUMAN?” he demands, a little of his usual sharp tone back in his voice, “THAT HURTS!”

You frown, and shift more of your weight to the foot on his chest, “I don’t believe I asked you, did I?”

He gasps, “NO! NO YOU DIDN’T!”

“You like when I’m this rough with you,” you declare more than ask.

“YES I DO!” Papyrus grunts, trying to find his metaphorical footing.

“You do, and you’re going to take it until I feel like you’ve learned your lesson.”

Papyrus shifts uncomfortably beneath you, like he’s trying to spit something out but he just can’t quite. You can vaguely hear him mumble something under his breath. You step even harder onto his ribs, making absolute certain that you’re not doing it enough to do any permanent or even long-temporary damage.

“FUCKING STEP ON MY SOUL!” Papyrus demands.

You freeze, “What?”

He moans, “FUCKING STEP ON MY SOUL LIKE THE NAUGHTY BOY THAT I AM!”

You involuntarily jerk off of him, the mere thought of doing something so obviously dangerous scaring you. You’re about to tell him how dangerous that is when you feel another deep tug on your chest. Before you can say “Goddammit Papy not the blue attack again I thought we talked about this”, you’re already tumbling forward onto him. Your legs are the first things to give way, forcing you to plop down with nearly your full weight onto Papyrus’ crotch.

Papryus lets out a harrowing cry of agony and releases your soul from his attack. You quickly balance yourself on your knees, feeling like maybe you were a danger to yourself and others at this point. He curls up in the fetal positon and holds his dick close to him like he’s cradling a baby. You feel sweat from the horror of having done that and from going full dom on him going down your whole body.

“Papy?” you whisper fearfully.

He hiccups, “WHAT HUMAN?”

“Did you still want me to—,” you try to say.

“IF YOU DAMAGE MY SOUL AT THIS POINT,” he whimpers, “I’M PRETTY SURE I’LL DUST.”

“Ok,” you whisper, “that would probably be dangerous anyways.”

“YEAH,” he hisses, “IT WOULD.”

You clear your throat, “I… think you’ve been punished enough.”

Papyrus whimpers, “I’D SAY SO.”

“How about I…” you struggle to regain your boost of confidence, “reward you?”

“IF YOU TOUCH MY DICK,” Papyrus warns with a warble in his tone, “I’M GOING TO THROW YOU OUT OF A MOVING TRAIN.”

“Ok,” you say, “sounds about right.”

There’s a nice quiet moment where you get to reflect back on what the fuck just happened. You just fucking smashed his dick so hard that he doesn’t even want to have sex with you at this point. You are truly the best dom that ever dommed in the history of domming. Not a total fuck up at all.

“I have a better idea,” you say quietly.

“WHAT?” Papyrus asks.

“How about we do that soul sex thing?” you point to your chest, “that’s what made you feel really good earlier, right?”

“YES,” he wheezes, “IT DID.”

“You… up for that?” you venture.

“I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE,” he whispers matter-of-factly.

Not wanting to fuck up again, like you have been literally all damn day, you ever so carefully lower your chest to Papyrus’. More accurately, you shake your way down to Papy until you’re hovering a good few inches over his chest. He finally breaks out of his fetal position and with rattling bones he stretches himself out so he’s facing you. You wince at the pain his in face, no longer that tempting mix of pleasurable pain and panful pleasure, but more of a grimace. Your face isn’t too much better, with the way you’re wincing every five seconds at the thought of how hard you slammed into him.

You can feel something inside of you being called out as you wait there for minutes on end. The way it calls to you and pushes against your internals forces a shuddering sigh to leave your lips. More than before, you can feel it culminating in front of you, as if your sympathy and concern is fueling its appearance. Your mind is overtaken by thoughts of concern and love as something wispy and (y/c) begins to swirl to life below your chest. Flashes of pleasure and fears and adoration skip out of your mind and manifest in front of you as your soul.

Something cold and white begins to come to life out of Papyrus’ ribs. Without the panic of having absolutely no clue what you’re doing (it’s calmed down to a slight buzz of confusion) you finally get a good look at his soul. It’s hard not to notice the tiny cracks that decorate his soul, something you’re fairly certain isn’t just a monster thing but something he’s been hiding from you. It beats with both a strong and certain rhythm, but also with fair and dull pulsations.

Just seeing it in such a state makes your chest feel heavier, and you find yourself leaning closer to him for comfort. Your head is turned down, so you can pay close attention to the look of your souls coming together. You watch as tiny tendrils of (y/c) begin to reach out to his white soul. Against the shadow of your body, you can see little wisps of white reaching out for your soul. Although you aren’t an expert, the way it so shakily and weakly reaches out to you breaks your heart, which in turn makes you reach out to it faster.

As the first of the tendrils touch a soft pang of need flows from your chest to the rest of you. You can see the (y/c) and the white mixing into the start of a color that feels so right you wouldn’t be able to describe it if you tried. Whispers of pain and discomfort follow after, making you squirm on your hands and knees. You jerk around as you try to avoid the sudden pain in your nethers and your chest, though the pain is so light that it feels unnecessary. It isn’t long before it occurs to you that you’re feeling a phantom sensation of what he is, which would explain why it feels like you’ve suddenly grown a penis and lost your flesh.

As you try to readjust yourself for comfort, white once again leaks into your eyes. The world starts to melt away from you, all of its sounds and smells and sights playing second fiddle to the monster below you. Clashing images dance about in your mind of him lying there in front of you as you can also see yourself over top of him. As your souls mix together more and more, the feelings and thoughts that can only be his intensify second by second. The discomfort in your hips grows to a true ache, and your chest heaves with the memory of your own foot on it.

His face, the one you can both see and feel flex yourself, is so flushed you can barely see him properly. The pain that you both can feel is still clearly on his face, but something like joy is slowly creeping onto his scowl. Flashes of your feelings as you towered over him appear back in your mind as if someone had rewound the tape. You can feel a swell of pride and slight embarrassment from both of you as you recount it. You can feel the way you grabbed his chin and the desperate pleasure he felt as you hissed such cruel things to him.

Slowly, very slowly, sparks of ecstasy creep into your chest and throughout your body. You can feel your spine tingle as your own fingers danced upon it for him. He can feel the sloppy presence of his own tongue on his hips as he had for you. You grimace at the feeling of your own lips wrapped around the dick you don’t have, and the subsequent feeling of emptiness as you suddenly bolt. He moans softly as his manhood stands back up at attention, need suddenly outweighing all his pain.

You’re barely in control of yourself as you reposition so you’re hovering just above his pelvis. There’s no need for an “are you ready?” as you can feel both your excitement growing by the second. His long cock slowly parts your pussy lips as you lower yourself onto him. You both whine and curse at not only your own pleasure, but the feeling of both of your pleasures at once. You can feel yourself twitch as you enter your own hole, and he can feel himself squeeze as he lowers onto himself. At that moment when your hips touch, there’s no place where you end and he begins.

You both rock worshippingly onto and into each other, your ears filling with the sound of your soft lovemaking. You shiver as you cannot only feel him inside of you, but you can feel your very walls surround him. You squeeze and shake around his rigid cock, already feeling close to finishing. You realize that the edge you’re feeling is his, the brink of orgasm tearing at your stomach like it is to him. You grind yourself harder down onto him, trying to make him feel exactly as he deserves to.

He moans graciously at your kindness, his hands slipping beneath your stomach to tease the sensitive skin there. His claws massage and scrape cruelly across your sensitive flesh, and by the way he shivers you can tell he feels it too. His other hand slips down farther, down to where your sensitive nub pulses with the coming orgasm. Your mind flashes with ecstasy as he flicks it, and as he recoils as the sharp pleasure pulses across his mind. As a virgin trying out their own body for the first time, Papyrus needily circles your nub for his own pleasure.

You sob out loud as he pants in the absolutely overwhelming onslaught of tickling pleasure. You smash your lips onto his teeth as the knot of orgasm you’re both feeling tightens like a vice in your guts. You all but devour his mouth with your wandering tongue as you cling to his chest for support. Your tears mix with his as you press your face closer to his, pinkish trails dripping down his chin with his red tears having been desaturated by your clear ones. You whine and moan senseless nothings into him, and he grunts and groans nonsensical words right back.

His fingers suddenly bite down on your nub as your walls bite down onto him. You scream into his mouth as two orgasms rip across your mind and body like they’re trying to tear your soul out. You buck hopelessly into him as he thrusts without a hint of rhythm into you. You can feel his cum leave him as it fills you to the brim, feelings of emptiness and fullness making you cry out like a banshee. His fingers dig deeper into your nub as he tries to draw the orgasm out as much as he can, or perhaps because he cannot let it go in the first place.

Your broken knots play off each other like crashing waves, tide pools of circulating pleasure pushing your ends on farther than they ever should have gone. You can feel yourself give way as you collapse onto him, your limbs weak and unresponsive in the face of the never-ending orgasm. His fingers twitch with both your urge to stop cumming and his urge to keep it going, only succeeding in sending shockwaves of too much and not enough across your bodies. Your limbs tingle with the echoes of your finish as you struggle to move.

Finally, after what feels like hours, his fingers slow to a stop as he too is swept up in your exhaustion. His chest heaves as he tries to not only get back the oxygen he lost (or was it the stuff that you lost?) as he also struggles to breathe despite your weight. You can’t tell if he’s pushing you off him or you’re getting off him yourself, but either way you end up flopping on the ground next to him. As you do, the threads of your soul and his hesitantly break apart. You can’t help but stare as his slowly recedes back into his chest, so much so that you don’t notice him watching you for the very same thing.

“So,” you croak, your voice completely shot, “that wasn’t as vanilla as I thought it would be.”

He chuckles half-heartedly, “I GUESS NOT.” He turns over to look at you, a tiny glimmer of his usual malice coming through, “YOU KNOW I’VE ALWAYS BEEN A KINKY MONSTER, THAT DIDN’T CHANGE JUST BECAUSE YOU WERE ON TOP, LOVE.”

You giggle, “Yeah, that would explain why you begged me to step on your soul, huh?”

He pushes you playfully, “OH SHUT IT YOU, YOU’RE THE ONE WHO MADE ME WEAR A DRESS.”

“You’re the one who agreed to wear it,” you counter as you cuddle into him.

“THAT IS RIGHT,” Papyrus murmurs as his consciousness leaves him, “YOU HAVE A POINT, LOVE.”

You yawn as you try to answer him, “I know I do, Papy.”

“I LOVE YOU, HUMAN,” Papyrus whispers, “YOU’RE MY WHOLE WORLD.”

You smile as you think back on his thoughts of trying to please you, thoughts of absolute horror of him having offended you, worries about you leaving him and letting him be lonely again, “I know, Papy, I know. I love you more.”

He grins softly as he thinks of your thoughts of wanting him to feel good, thoughts of fearing that he might never understand you, worries of him leaving you because you weren’t good enough or some nonsense like that, “THAT’S HARD TO DO.”

“But it’s true.”

He brings you closer to him, snuggling into you, “I’M YOURS,” he breaths, “AND I ALWAYS WILL BE.”

You bury your face into his ribs, the last whispers of absolute truth leaking into your mind as his soul calls out to you, “same here,” you breath as you fall asleep, “same here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took so long! I actually had to restart this story once because the first version worked a lot better for another character. I might even write that one day, if I find the time and energy.


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